Mile High
by Bond.Jane
Summary: My take on the infamous "Penalty for the late returning of a book". May contain slight spoilers for The Passenger in the Oven" Rated M for obvious reasons so, if you are under 18 or easily blush, just skedaddle, my friend.


Dr Brennan stood there in the improvised mile high lab working on the remains of the oven cooked victim. She had her hair tied in a loose pony tail and a few strands of the auburn mass were stubbornly escaping the elastic band she had tied them with. Her vision was magnified by the borrowed glasses of an older passenger who's style sense seemed to have stopped somewhere in the late 1950s. She was working in concentration when Booth walked into her work space. When she looked up, her eyes magnified by the butterfly shaped glasses, he was startled to realize that she actually looked good with the damned glasses. He understood then the attraction of the librarian fetish which he simply had not until then. In his mind, libraries had always been places of punishment with mousy old women in ugly glasses and sensible squeaking shoes, shushing everybody. Not wanton sex goddesses with blue eyes. Most definitely not that. He invaded her personal space in the way only he dared, his voice slightly husky with a twinge of desire.

"OK, Bones, here's what I want you to do: just take off your glasses, wag you hair and say _Mr Booth, do you know the penalty for the late return of a book is?_" And in a fraction of a second he _almost_ regretted saying it, knowing that, though it might take some time, she would understand what he'd meant. And then where would he be. _I can always play it down. God knows I've been doing it for a long time now. _Through the lenses, he couldn't quite read her expression, but because she did not immediately break a bone or two in his body, he retreated to the safety of numbers of passengers. There was hope she would forget about it. But he walked away with visions of a Temperance Brennan punishing him for the late return of a book.

************

Back in her improvised lab, Temperance was busy doubting she had fully understood Booth's meaning. _It's probably a sexual fantasy... just like the teacher. I've had sexual partners particularly fond of that one. In fact..._ She took the glasses off, removed the rubber band releasing her hair and tried it on for size... maybe that was it... a sexual fantasy. But about her? _Unlikely. Booth does not think of me in that way..._ She tried to put the though of Booth's sexual fantasies aside. It was not conducive to good work. Compartmentalize was what she needed to do. So she put the though away with a shrug of the shoulders and invested all her conscious energy in letting the victim telling her who the murder was.

*********

The moment she sat down for a glass of champagne, when all the passengers were gone and all the autographs were signed and all the compliments accepted for their crime fighting performance, when all noise was gone, she sipped the complimentary champagne and the full force of her consciousness turned to what she'd been trying to put away for the last couple of hours. She leaned into him to say something or other and the smell of his skin distracted her, the brown in his eyes drew her attention and whatever he was saying was no more than a very exciting soundtrack to her thoughts.

The kid's voice sitting in coach snapped her of it:  
"Are you two going to make out?" _Why does everybody think that? _She voiced her question out loud but Booth did not offer a reply. At least not a satisfactory one.

She leaned back on her seat and did what she could to relax. She was good at meditating. Meditating was good for relaxation. And relaxation was good for unresolved sexual tension. Well, as good as it was possible, anyway. Only one thing could her her now and that a good bout of sweaty, dirty and heavy sex. A tumble in the hay. A roll about in the bush. Making woopie. _How does the song go? Birds do it, bees do, even educated flees do it..._ She wasn't having much luck with meditation. Her unruly thoughts kept on going back to Booth and his comment, to Booth and his sexual fetishes. _Maybe I should just think it through. Exhaust the subject in my mind_. And having given herself conscious permission to dwell on the matter, her quick brain multiplied scenarios and visions of Booth. _Booth probably has some control fantasies. Why else the punishment? What would the punishment be, anyway? Side tracking, Brennan! _She wondered about the handcuffs. Would he like to use them in sex games? On himself? On his partner? _Booth naked handcuffed to a bedpost..._ Her skin crawled and heated up. She was feeling aroused just at the vision of his muscled body, sleek with sweat, his muscles strained by the awkward position, completely at her mercy. _Hold the thought... at my mercy? And it seems that I have control issues myself._ She peeked at him discreetly under her lashes. He had managed to lower his seat to a lying down position. His abdomen muscles strained against the confines of his white shirt. _He should be forbidden of using white shirts that show his muscles and his skin. It looks too damned good on him._ She closed her eyes again. She fought for a comfortable position on her seat. Heat was radiating from her core and she had no way of relieving it. It was pulling at her skin and muscles in her midsection. She tried harder to relax. The alternative would be going into the bathroom and masturbate and that was just a sad, sad way to join in the mile high club.

She sighed, breathed in, breathed out and in again, in an effort to regain control over whatever it was that was torturing her with visions of her partner. _Work partner! Just work partner. _She shifted in her seat trying to make herself comfortable. It was not working. She hunted around for a blanket and covered herself. She turned and curled up on her side, facing him. The kid in coach must have fallen asleep because the handcuff rattling had stopped. _The handcuffs! _ She sighed_. The handcuffs. What if Booth handcuffed me to that hypothetic bedpost? _In her mind, she could see herself handcuffed to the bedpost, naked and utterly at Booth's mercy. He would kiss her backbone first and then her shoulder blades... he would turn her head to him for a kiss and then just take her from behind... _BRENNAN!_ She yelled at herself. _Work partner, work partner, work partner_, she kept repeating to herself, in the hope that the mantra like sound would push away all the thoughts of his skin gliding on hers, sleek with sweat, hot with wanting.

She wanted desperately to relax. But it was impossible. She had let herself get to a state of arousal nothing would sate. _Do something!_ There it was, that voice of her evil genie, whispering in her ear as it had so many times before. _Go there, tell him what you want, that you need him on you..._ Truth be said, she fought the voice. But when it whispered in her ear _Come on, show him what the punishment for the late returning of book is _she gave up, gave in. She stood up silently, put the glasses back on, tied her hair in a pony tail and walked over to him. He was sound asleep, stretching indecently in his seat, the bulge of his manhood all to visible through the dark pants, the firmness of his muscles clear through the thin crisp cotton of his white shirt. He still looked fresh despite the 13 hour flight to China and all the waiting for the refuel and whatever time they already had of journey back. She lowered herself to him and inspired his scent deeply. _God I love his smell. I could recognize it anywhere in the world!_ She was fully expecting him to open his eyes when she got close. It was the sniper in him, all alertness. But he remained still. And then she saw the handcuffs hanging from his belt.

Genius is 99 per cent perspiration, 1 per cent inspiration, one of her teachers used to tell them way back in high school. This particular genius idea was all inspiration. She removed the handcuffs from his belt as gently as she could, took his hand in hers and cuffed his right wrist first and then, raising is other arm above his head , cuffed the second wrist after looping the chain links between the seat upper handle. He woke up when the cuffs clicked shut.

He opened his eyes slowly, a mix of shock and anxiety passing in his expression. She stood defiantly over him, the glasses distorting her vision into a haze.

"Bones, what are you doing? Take these off! Now!" He strained against his restraints, tossed and turned, but she had secured him safely.

"Bones, this is not funny!" She looked at him, challenge in her eyes, unrepentant.

"Mr Booth, do you know what the penalty is for the late returning of a book?"

Booth snapped to attention. She took out the glasses and waged her hair free of its restraints. She was briefly disappointed that her hair was not longer and wilder like in the films. She had hoped for a mix of Lauren Bacall and Jessica Rabbit but her old self would have to do. She was not used to the feeling of inadequacy in sexual matters, but that was the effect Booth had on her. That and the stammering and the confusion and the always trying to catch up with him. Lauren Bacall, however, had never let her down. She stood between his open legs and leaned against the front seat, jutting her breasts forward. She raised her hand to her hair and slid it down her front, stopping at the buttons.

"Well, Mr Booth, do you know what the penalty is for the late returning of a book?" She opened he first button, her movements painfully slow. Booth swallowed hard.

"Bones... Oh God!"

"Now, now, Mr Booth. Don't call me that. My name is Miss Temperance." And she opened the second button. The purple shirt was starting to reveal her skin underneath.

"Bones, these are kind of tight!" she raised her knee and applied slight pressure on his manhood. Not enough to hurt, but sufficient to get his attention.

"It's Miss Temperance, Mr Booth. Can you say that for me?" Booth gulped.

"Miss Temperance..." Her knee released the pressure.

"Now, about that book you returned late... did you have fun with it? Is that why you're returning it late?

"Miss Temperance, I don't know what you mean!"

"The Kama Sutra, Mr Booth, is a very sought after book. You should never return such a book late"

"I'm sorry, Miss Temperance" he said tentatively.

"Well, not as sorry as you're going to be after I'm done with you" She finished opening her buttons and her shirt opened to reveal a black lacy bra. It owed very little to modesty, revealing tantalizing snippets of her flesh. She wished briefly she'd been wearing a skirt and stockings... pants were not the most seductive of garments.

She leaned towards him and smelled his skin, his scent, a mix of himself and good cologne, of the difficult day they'd had and of desire. She raked her nails down his chest over the cotton shirt. His head snapped up in a mix of surprise and pain.

"Bones, please" She grabbed his nipple over the shirt and pinched it lightly. He gasped.

"It' Miss Temperance!". She straddled him and opened each of the buttons on his shirt with a deep, wet kiss to his mouth. She could feel him surrendering, his manhood straining against the confines of his pants, straight into her core. He sighed and breathed deeply. Her hand was roaming at will over his torso, his legs, the zipper on his pants, tugging at his belt buckle. She traced the gold letters in _Cocky, _the metal of the buckle warm from the contact with his body. She was torn between taking things slow, keeping in character, to give him the fulfillment of his fetish or to do what she really had been waiting for nearly four years which was to rip his clothes away from his body and mark him as her territory, take possession, brand herself into him. She felt like a rowdy teenager struggling with her hormones.

_Booth never rushed me!_ _He deserves better than a quick one. _

"You know, Mr Booth, I don't think you understand the serious implications of your conduct!" She decided to give him this one pleasure. _He denies himself enough! _She stood, and with slow movements, trailed a finger from his knees to his belt by way of the bulge straining for release from his pants. She took longer in that bulge, her fingers pressing down to feel the resistance of his flesh. _He's so hard! _Her finger finished it's journey on the belt buckle.

"Now, if you're really nice to me, I'll take off the belt buckle..." She whispered into his ear, causing his skin to warm up where her breath had kissed it.

"Oh yes, please, Miss Temperance, take it off!" She complied and the belt buckle did not offer resistance. She opened the zipper and his black underwear came into view. She was impatient to taste him, to make him moan her name as she imagined so often he moaned other women's names. He'd said he did alright and she had hated him at that very moment, feeling jealous of women she didn't even know.

She pulled his pants down. _Well, now, he's just mine._ She kissed his muscled thighs, his belly and lingered in her exploration. His skin was warm. _And it's my name is going to moan and me he's going to beg._

"Please Miss Temperance, I'll never return a book late ever again!"

"And I believe you, Mr Booth. The question is, what do you need now?" And she spoke between kisses and licking his skin, it's slightly salty flavor rushing through her blood.

"Touch you... I just need to touch you...Bo... Ms Temperance" he amended swiftly at the dangerous frown of her eye.

She slithered over him, the serpent from eden, the temptress. She wanted to touch all of him at the same time, absorb him into her skin. Her breath hitched at the fierceness of her own desire.

"But you've been bad!" But really, she just wanted him to beg for release from his restraints.

"Miss Temperance, please... I need to taste you. I've been wanting to taste you since we first met. Please take these off" he asked rattling the cuffs. She leaned over him, offering him her breasts. He kissed them reverently, biting at the pink nipples under the black lace, drawing a gasp of approval from her. _I always knew he'd be able to work miracles with that mouth! _Her underwear was sodden with her own excitement and she wanted it off. She wanted him inside her, and to couple with him. She need his surrender and to feel him come. She pulled away from him with a twinge of regret to undress. She saw him lifting his head to observe as her pants slide to pool on the floor and her black lacy panties were pushed down.

She knelled in from of him ready to worship at the altar of his body. She drew in his scent and felt it coursing through her veins, pumping in her blood, rushing to her head, making it spin madly out of control. She pulled and tugged at his underwear and removed it to reveal him in all his glory, his erection begging to be kissed and tasted. _Devoured _was the word in her mind. She tasted him, like she would the most precious of foods, the rarest of wines. She could get drunk on him, on his taste. _Am I drunk?Why am I so dizzy? _He got to her head with a buzz.

Booth was moaning her name. The _Temperance _he whispered caused electric shocks to rush through her skin.

"Miss Temperance... Temperance... please..." She smiled. A battle had just been won. He had begged_ her,_ moaned h_er_ name.

She straddled him, their skins melting together, the heat of their bodies mixing, their scents combining. He was still straining against the cuffs, trying to reach her to take possession of her mouth.

"I need to get inside you Temperance... you've kept me waiting long enough!" She smiled, mischief shining in her eyes, her face flushed with the heat their bodies were sharing. She wanted him, but she wanted to hear him say whatever it was she had always wanted hear but had, so far, refused to admit it. She allowed him access to her her and he slid in. He fit inside her like he had been made for her. She felt full, complete. Replete. Yes, she thought, there it was, that moment in her life where everything made sense. The journey made sense. It put into perspective everything that had happened in her life, and hopefully in his, to give her the big picture. And the big picture was that nothing else mattered, nothing was as important as that moment that they became one.

"Say it, Booth" She urged him in synchrony with the movements of her hips. "I want to hear you saying it" Her hands run through his face, his naked, sweaty torso, urging him on, ridding him into putting into words what she had always dreaded he could say afraid she wouldn't be able to return it.

"I need you to say it"

"BONES!"

"It's Miss Temperance"

"BONES! Wake up already, you're scaring me! What do you want me to tell you?" She woke up startled, almost jumping out of her skin. Her eyes refused to focus on the face in front of her, and her heart was pounding in her chest. She wasn't even sure if it was because of the lovemaking in the dream or because of the horrible sensation of having been caught doing something very, very wrong.

Booth had been startled when she had started moaning in her sleep. He had been watching the expressions change on her face while she was sleeping, captivated by the seriousness of her unguarded expression and by the smile that had followed it. It was a smile he imagined she would save for her lovers, full of mischief and desire. But he had never imagined that that smile would be used coupled with his name. And he was not ready for _that. _Not with her. Not until they could be, until they could give everything to each other. Until then, she would be untouchable.

He pulled her to him, holding her close in to his wildly beating heart.

"Sh... it's ok, Bones, I'm here." Embarrassment made her hide her face in his shoulder. The need for time to compose herself and get her body under control made her stay there, torturing though it was, to feel his warmth, when she wanted nothing more than to melt into him, smelling his cologne when she wanted to oblige her body, satisfy her hunger for him, feeling his heart beating against hers when her own heart ached for something she was only to aware lately, could only ever come from him.

"Bad dream Bones?" _Ah, who are you kidding, man? You know damned well what she was dreaming about. _So he held her to him, comforted her, and took it upon himself to keep them both sane and, at least physically, whole.

"Bones, I thought you knew: I'm _NEVER _gonna call you Miss Temperance. You better forget about it! There's limits to what you can ask of man" He said pulling her to look in her eyes, a reassuring smile in place. "No matter how much you beg." He stroke her hair, releasing it from the pony tail she usually wore when she was working in the lab. "No matter what kind of voice you use when you beg" He said with a complicity wink.

Bones could not be rushed. She needed time. And, he felt, she was _almost_ ready. Being a patient man, he knew: his time was coming. And it took only three little things: time, patience and love.


End file.
